Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Seriously? Seriously!

I realize this is piling on and I don't blame you for being angry about what will, for all intents and purposes seem to be an egregiously cheap shot, except I swear the guy broke the branch off himself, whittled it down to a strong switch, put it in my hands, took two paces back, dropped his britches and begged me to wail away.

Newt Gingrich. I know, again. This time colonizing the moon and granting that colony statehood before his second term as President is over. I take back all the mean things I said about him just the other day (okay, now I'm lying, but Gingrich started it). I love this frickin' guy! Tell you who else does, too-Barack Obama, that's who.

Half a year ago, to hear people tell it, my Aunt Tillie could've whupped the incumbent President in an election. And now? Tillie is staying on the porch and the goofiest group of stuffed suits since the last Republican Presidential primary are playing whack-a-mole with one another as they roll across these, on occasion, United States.

Rick Sanctorum, Ron Paul, Mitt Romney, each of them have a special brand of crazy but nobody but Newt has the moon. Not just barking at it, my brothers and sisters, building a settlement on it, a second Plymouth Colony if you will. Someplace where the illegal aliens are us, again dammit! Sure, there are treaties and agreements about the moon and colonization; ask the Native Americans how well the US Government keeps its agreements. Help yourself to a blanket for your trouble. Take one home for the little lady, too.

The guy I visualize leaving an oil slick when he goes underwater in a swimming pool, that Newt Gingrich, is going to take up JFK's mantle--turns out they already had so much in common and now, to the moon, Alice. I can hear Joe Cocker warbling at the Johnson Space Center already. Makes me thirsty just thinking about it. Can I offer you some Tang?
-bill kenny

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About Me

I am Mrs. Kenny's oldest son. I used to say 'favorite' but Mom requested I stop because of liability concerns in connection with truth in advertising laws.

You'd think in six decades of life here on the Big Blue Marble I could easily type 1200 characters about myself but no joy! Pathetic, right? Let me note, together with the love of my life, that I live in The Rose of New England, Norwich, Connecticut, where I am tolerated (I suspect) because there's no consensus yet on where to hide the body when push finally comes to shove.